


South Seas

by Chuizard



Series: Lingles RPs [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Drow, Half-Elves, Homebrew Content, M/M, Slavery, Slow Romance, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuizard/pseuds/Chuizard
Summary: Jingles and Luck sneak away from the Stronghold to go seek out a popular slave trading city and bring it to its knees. However they still need a plan on how to take down the city...Posting the roleplays from Discord for myself and Ali (foreignobjecticus). If you happen to read them and like them somehow let us know! There may be two distinct writing styles in here because it's... well... a roleplay.Jingles belongs to me and Luck (aka Kratis) belongs to Ali (foreignobjecticus). This was posted with permission from both parties.(More characters tba)
Relationships: Luck/Jingles
Series: Lingles RPs [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734376





	South Seas

The tables in the library were strewn with maps and charts that plotted out the waves of the South Seas in minute detail. Above the layers of curling parchment, Luck sat hunched, head in his hands and a pair of golden glasses on his nose to help see in the rapidly fading light of the lamps around him. The evening had long set in and the library was plunged into a kind of darkness that the shelves upon shelves of books seemed to exacerbate, the night as cloying and thick as the smell of dusty parchment in the airless rooms. Luck rubbed his forehead vigorously and pushed the ill-fitting glasses back up his nose. He didn’t let people see he needed them to read, so they were often crushed and bent within the depths of his pockets. Beside Luck’s maps he kept a long list of coordinates and a set of notes with a plan of attack written in spidery infernal script. Underneath this paper, a note from Lias sat open. Luck had been re-reading the news over and over since he’d first received the letter.

_Everything went well,_ the letter read, *and your cousins were able to make it to their aunt without issue. My boy made a grant show of the fireworks at your uncle’s house and they even reached down to the river! It was fantastic to see them setting off from the bank! I think it’ll have to be a while before we can set of fireworks again – we’ve scorched the bank too well and it’ll take a while for the grass to grow back now, if at all. Sending all our love – *

The letter was written in Infernal, but it wasn’t like that would stop Beldroth’s men from reading the letter if it ever got intercepted. Luck had gotten the missive late, dated almost three months ago now, but he had been sure Lias and Dyil would have been able to finish the job they’d started. It sounded like the slave area of Tachnir was gone and even the docks had been taken care of which is something Luck hadn’t even considered to suggest. Lias had done him a good turn, that was for sure, but he did worry the repercussions if it even got out that the old tiefling had made the call the burn the slave headquarters to the ground. It was foolish of Lias to send a letter at all, knowing very well he would have had no issue taking care of the task, but this meant Beldroth would have heard that Luck had been there. Pyrrhos had been killed by a very conspicuous half-drow, a deal had been struck by one of the elf’s foremost tiefling ex-dealers, and Borox had been bribed to start sending his slaves away from Crestport.

The waters would be undoubtedly churning without the news that the whole Tachnir slave trade hub had been wiped out, and that would only make it harder now to take out the only other hub besides Cresport: the South Sea Alps. Luck had never been anywhere that far south before, but navigating there without being seen would prove to be the biggest issue. They could take the easiest shipping channels in a boat and pray they aren’t seen, or they could go the long way around and travel by foot over the snowy mountains and _hope_ they didn’t stumble across any mines. The maps Luck now had spread before him were surveys and ordinance maps for the Alps, but they were out of date and covered in prospective mining sites that may or _may not_ have been developed by now. As much as Luck wanted to go in for the stealth approach, it looked like this might be somewhere they’d have to tackle head-on… Luck could probably get away with it himself, but _Jingles_? The tiefling dropped his head to his hands again and huffed as his thoughts ran in circles over and over again. How were they going to get to the South Seas, and how was he going to propose the plan to Jingles with _nothing_ to go on? Luck sighed again and his shoulders slumped.

"Do you mind if I take a plate of food over to my friend? He's probably buried in books in the library." Jingles asked one of the bartender at the inn. It was a little late to ask for dinner, but the jester hoped he could get away with it.

The bartender bellowed out a laugh. Jingles had just finished a swell performance at the inn, so the man was in high spirits. "Of course! Let me get some of the leftovers for you!" The man went into the kitchen to fetch the meal.

Jingles hummed a little tune he had played on his pan flute not too long ago as he waited. A couple people came up to him to thank him for his uplifting act.

"Are you going to be here tomorrow?" A female elf asked in high hopes.

Jingles smiled at his new fan. "I'm sorry, but I'll be on the road again by tomorrow. So many other towns need to see my show~" He chimed and rhymed.

She looked disappointed, but nodded in understanding. "Well, it was nice meeting you..."

"Jingles~"

"Jingles. It was nice meeting you, Jingles." And with that the elf went upstairs.

By this time the bartender had returned from the kitchen with a plate of food. It had some bread, meats, and vegetables. Jingles thanked the man and reached for his gold pouch to pay him.

"Oh, no no no! This is on the house! As well as your room!" He told the jester.

Jingles' smile grew. "You're too kind~" This was something that happened often to the little jester. As long as he performed well enough Jingles would always get a free room and food.

He happily made his way to the library. The streets were mostly empty at this time of night. Thankfully the library wasn't too far away from the inn. It wasn't hard to find his tiefling friend in the dark building since his lanterns were one of the only light sources. Jingles' bells tinkled as he moved towards the man.

"I brought you some food!" He announced and carefully placed the plate on a free space on the desk. Jingles didn't want to cover up any of the papers or maps Luck was looking at. He tilted his head as he noted the glasses on the man's face and his frustrated expression. "It looks like you need a break." The jester commented. Without warning, he moved behind Luck and began to massage his shoulders. He could feel hard knots in the tiefling's muscles. Jingles squeezed and rubbed at them with some pressure. "What's troubling you, Luck?" Jingles asked gently.

The familiar sound of bells signaled Jingles’ approach. The tiefling watched him approach with a plateful of meats and belatedly realised he was no longer alone so he whipped the golden glasses from his nose and crammed them back into an inner pocket, snapping one of the arms as he went. He tensed again when he Jingles circle around to his back and behind rubbing his shoulders, but _Oh… **damn**_ if that wasn’t a good massage. Jingles’ smaller fingers seemed to seek out the knots in Luck’s back and in an instant he felt the muscles pressed and separating, rolling under the jester’s hands and melting into the touch. The damned drow had absolutely no right touching Luck like that, but he certainly needed it.

“This finally got through to me yesterday,” Luck admitted, shifting his notes across to reveal the letter Lias had sent. He had yet to share it with Jingles but now seemed the time. Rather than let the jester pause his massage to pick up the paper, Luck read it aloud, trying hard to not let his voice be affected by the bliss of the massage (though a scattered ‘oh’ here and there still slipped in).

“I think the only way we’re going to get to the South Sea will be by ship straight into the harbour, then by cart up to the foothills and the city,” Luck explained, one hand drawing up short as he reached for the sea chart. His shoulder blade had popped and it felt _**good**_. “It’s a shame I couldn’t find us an easier route, but these maps are too old and I don’t want to risk getting into the city by land without a solid plan.”

The two friends had spent a few nights on the road speaking of their plan; they needed to strike while the iron was hot and put another That the docks had been destroyed was fantastic news; they would have to build new docks before re-establishing the hub, so that gave them months before anything could return. It was likely Beldroth would set up a new hub in his network, Luck reasoned, but that meant that in the meantime that the South Seas would be overrun with an influx of traders in the spillover from Tachnir. The traders themselves would never go to Crestport to sell direct, and Beldroth himself wouldn’t be so stupid to let them come up that way regardless, so instead it would all have to come through the dwarven rings for the foreseeable future. Luck had reasoned out just as much with Jingles dozens of times over the last few days, and now his plan to actually tackle the hub was looking to be insurmountable.

“I don’t know how we’re going to cripple the place short of causing an avalanche to destroy the town,” Luck sighed. “We’d have to wait until winter too, and even then the dwarves are no stranger to avalanches; they’d have dug themselves out in a day.” Tension gripped Luck briefly before being driven away by Jingles, but with a gentle shrug he brushed the jester’s hands from his numb shoulders. “Thank you. If you keep that up I’ll start getting used to it.” Luck paused, huffed, and straightened his back. Standing up from his chair, he leafed through the maps on the table and placed them into stacks, clearing space to shift his plate of food. Without bothering with the knife and fork Jingles had brought along, Luck picked up the slab of meat and tore into it with is sharp teeth. Overcooked as always, but what else could he expect in the human city? He wasn’t going to push his luck looking for a decent piece of meat when he was on thin ice just _being_ in the city at all. These kinds of towns kept their disdain for tieflings very clear, and he was quickly growing tired of the mood.

“We should move on in the morning; I can’t get anything else out of these maps and I’m getting thoroughly sick of the humans,” Luck said quietly, glancing around in case anyone heard but the main room was seemingly empty.

Jingles smirked at the way Luck melted into his touch. The man obviously needed a massage, but this was just a subtle way to flirt with him. Despite the appreciative 'oh's mixed in his words, Luck didn't seem to catch on. The jester was a little disappointed, but he did ask Luck what was going on so he couldn't complain. It sounded like they did really well on Tachnir from what the letter said. It was also nice to hear that Luck's relatives were safe. That was a relief.

He continued rubbing at Luck's shoulders and back as he listened to him speak. Jingles frowned at the idea of going on another ship. He remembered his bad experiences on the ocean and would rather not relive them. "...Are you _sure_ we would have to take a ship?" Jingles asked in a concerned tone.

Then there was the problem of 'crippling' the slave trading town. Luck could only think of an avalanche and even then that would be a very temporary fix. They needed something more effective and permanent. Luck shrugged off Jingles' hands and he stopped the massage willingly. The jester picked at his own mind for some ideas that might help their predicament. "We could burn that place to the ground too." Was his first suggestion. Jingles didn't know that dwarves primarily build with stone, which would make it harder to burn down the city.

Jingles hummed in thought for more plans. "You know if I know drow- and I do- maybe we could start a riot or an uprising." In truth Jingles knew very little about the race he pretended to be, but he did know what it was like to be a slave. It was very far from a good life, and any slave would take the opportunity to escape or fight back if given the chance. "Us drow are a proud, strong-willed race. I'm sure they would love to give those dwarves what they deserve." He couldn't help but to grin at the thought of helping other slaves get some good old fashioned revenge.

"I did manage to get our room for free." He then told Luck with a proud smirk. Jingles understood that the man was fed up with dealing with the humans in this town. Maybe that little fact would help cheer him up some.

Luck only grunted at Jingles’ question about whether they’d have another option for getting to the South Seas. They _were called_ seas for a reason, after all. There wasn’t much in the way of land between them and their goal as it was; they’d been travelling south at a diagonal, not willing to make it look as if they were heading straight towards the South Seas, but it was hard going. It was a shame that they couldn’t have enlisted the help of the Stronghold; Desdain had enough on her plate as it was with the Institute breathing down their necks as is; getting them anywhere near involved with the kind of destruction Luck and Jingles were planning would just be putting lives in danger, and as much as the others may think Luck didn’t care about the dragonborns, he wouldn’t willingly give them up for any amount of gold. They had become too important to him; some were even _friends_.

“It’s a shame we can’t just fly to the South Seas, or better yet teleport. The only way I can think we’ll be able to get there from here is by ship unless you can think of a better way?” he scoffed as he laughed, rolling up the maps on the table and snapping closed the atlas he’d been leafing through. There wasn’t much use for the things now and his paper full of notes revealed precious little. At least he’d tried.

“If only stone would burn…” he said replied with a nod, glancing back at Jingles from his chair. It wasn’t a bad idea but even if they could, another fire would be too suspicious. They could take down Tachnir and they could take down the South Seas, but that would still leave Crestport. With the primary buyer of slaves still open and trading, all the little slave sale yards across Thrae would still be able to run. Toppling Crestport would be a tremendous effort, and they would only be able to do so if they kept their heads down now and made sure they weren’t implicated in the deed.

_"…maybe we could start a riot or an uprising,”_ Jingles suggested, and the idea cut through Luck’s train of thought like a hot knife through butter. He hardly heard whatever Jingles was saying next.

_Start an uprising…_ but how? They’d have to get to the slaves themselves, and even then they’d have to convince them. It’d take too much time, and they couldn’t _pay_ someone to go in as a slave and start an uprising – no one would willingly do that! It wasn’t the kind of thing just anyone could do; Luck _knew_ being a slave was tough, demoralising, and so incredibly _lonely_. Sure, he’d never been there himself, but he’d seen the slaves at Tachnir, **hell** , there’d been a period of time, _fleetingly brief as it was_ , when his own friends had been in that position… the memories turned his stomach and he pushed his empty plate away with a grimace.

_Jingles knows what it’s like._ **Fuck NO**.

_He couldn’t ask that of the drow!_ **Oh shit, he’s a drow.** _That actually makes a lot of sense._ **NO!**

The thoughts were colliding in his head like asteroids smashing into each other, burning and crashing and fleeting, utter chaos in his mind and he swallowed at a dry throat as he blurted out an idea, voice shaking and quiet.

“What if I sold you?”

The mere idea of Luck selling him made Jingles' heart drop to the bottom on his stomach. He was absolutely terrified of the suggestion. It was one of his many fears after all; Luck betraying him suddenly and selling him off back into slavery for the right amount of gold. He hadn't worried about it recently. He trusted the man now, but those mere five words shattered any trust he had with Luck.

His smile strained to stay on his face, and his gloved hands coiled into tight fists. He couldn't help but to glare up at the man. Jingles had to take a moment to breathe. He didn't want to start yelling at the man. He didn't want to create a scene; especially at this time of night, but he wanted oh so badly to hit the man square in the face. Jingles wondered how and why he would ever suggest such a thing. Maybe he had misheard. For Luck's sake, he better have misheard.

"...What did you just say?" He hissed through clenched teeth. Jingles was giving the man one chance- just one. If Luck wasn't careful the tiefling might end up with a dagger in his flesh.

Luck recognised the look the Jingles' eyes, the way his fists clenched and his jaw set rigid behind the smiling make up. His hip twinged painfully and he scooted his chair back, hands immediately spread before him and a look of unreserved apology slapped across his face.

"I meant as a trick. I don't want to sell you, Jingles. I want you, I _need_ you to help me stop this thing. It's so much bigger than me and you, but with your knowledge, your skills, you could use that empathy... get them stirring, start a wave of unrest that the slavers can't quash. They really only need one brave voice... but I'm sure you know that?"

Luck's reasoning seemed sound and his voice held almost completely steady, but he would back down in an instant if Jingles said no. It seemed like he'd suggested it.

"It might be the only way."

Jingles heard the man out. Luck presented a surprisingly solid idea, but the jester loathed it with all of his being. At the very least Luck had only talked his way out of a good stab or slap across the face. "No." Jingles said with a stern voice. "Absolutely not." He still looked like he wanted to slice into Luck, but he hadn't produced a dagger. "How could you suggest such a thing? I mean I got out of slavery once- why on earth would I ever want to go back?" 'To help other slaves.' His thoughts countered. "Did you even consider the risks? What if they recognize me? What if the other slaves are already too broken to fight? What would you do then?" Jingles brought up some points of his own. 'High risk, high reward. Don't be selfish. You can't abandon these slaves. At least _try_ to save them.' Intrusive thoughts retaliated with their own reasoning. Jingles shook his head and tried to push the thoughts away, but his mind was persistent.

He felt his eyes get wet with tears. Jingles really did feel sorry for any slave that was still on the market. He could easily imagine what pain and suffering they were going though. The only question that remained was: is he going to do whatever it takes to free them? Jingles hated this option with every fiber of his being, but he would endure it if it meant freeing more slaves and putting another dent in the corrupted market.

Jingles turned away on his heels. His body shook with overwhelming emotions. "F... fine." He finally said. The jester wiped his tears away carefully so he wouldn't smudge his makeup. "I'll do it." He turned back around to face Luck with a glare. "But you owe me."

_I owe you so much already_ Luck thought a little bitterly as he relaxed his shoulders again. Boy, they’d tensed up real quick. The murderous look in Jingles’ eyes maybe had something to do with it. 

“I think it could work really well…” Luck said, his voice soft as he tested the waters with his friend. It was an awful thing to ask him, but it made a lot of sense, and even as Jingles visibly struggled to make up his mind, Luck could tell the jester was realising the same thing. 

"I've never sold there before, you know," the tiefling said again; he wanted to make it very clear he hadn't been involved with the Frow's before he continued. "But there's likely to be a lot of people there that _will_ recognise me. If I walk in with you I'll have to... make a convincing sale... show your worth." _You're worth more than gold to me._

Luck didn't want to admit that that'd probably mean parading the drow through the sale yard and forcing him to do tricks. Maybe he knew already, maybe he didn't. If Jingles wanted he could dress as something besides a jester, but that might make it harder to sell and delay their plan. Luck swallowed.

"Whatever happens, the quicker you're sold to the ring itself, the quicker you'll be put into the yards with the rest of the slaves. The ones for sale there are always fresh, easy to rile up. If there are enough there, you could start something but it might not be big enough; but if you plant the seeds of dissent in the drow that are there, give them a goal and a timeline, when they move through to the ships or local mines, they'll have the idea of revolution stirring in them. Organise them like that and we'll kill the trade from the inside out."

They walked back through the now dark streets of the town, reaching the inn quickly. Luck stopped briefly to return his plate to the kitchen, and together they climbed the stairs up to their room. Pausing in front of the room, Luck waited for Jingles to pull out the key to their room. As the door swung open, Luck cast a cantrip at the lamps on the wall, and his stomach sank. It was a tiny room with nothing more to furnish it than a single bed.

Jingles sneered at the idea that Luck would have to show his worth, but it did make sense. He just loathed the idea of being sold back into slavery, even if it was to trick those bastards in the slave market. "That's. Fine." He huffed. He wondered what Luck would have him do. Some flips maybe? Juggling? He could play the pan flute too.

"You better stay safe too." Jingles then said. He wasn't sure where Luck would go after he sold him or what he would do. It was completely up to the jester to cause a stir amongst the other slaves, and he could already feel the weight of this task on his shoulders. He rubbed his own shoulder on the way out of the library as an attempt to keep his own stress and anxiety at bay.

Jingles was hoping to find some relief when they got to the room. He let out a disappointed sigh when he saw how small the room was and that there was only one bed. The jester had forgotten the size and quality of the room since he had only been in it briefly to put his stuff in. No wonder it was free. He muttered something under his breath. "... _kuqaz'w_..." Of course they would give a travelling jester and his _tiefling_ friend a room like this.

"You can have the bed." He offered. Without waiting for a response, Jingles went over to his pack and pulled out his bed roll. He laid it out on the floor near the far wall to dub the tiny space his.

_Bigots… you’re right._ Luck sneered at the room himself pressed himself in to close the door. There was hardly any room to shift around and thankfully Jingles had elected to take the floor before the tiefling had even gotten the chance to offer. Luck thanked Jingles quietly and sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, toes scraping against the wall and marking it in the process. He gave it a few extra gratuitous scrapes in a pang of malice before feeling bad. It was free after all. Still, the humans here weren’t used to his kind and it showed. They’d move on in the morning and it’d be behind them anyway.

Luck slid into the bed with his clothes still on, not trusting the humans to have given him enough blankets to stay warm tonight anyway. The thin, scratchy wool of the old bedsheets itched as he pulled it up higher to his neck and doused the lamplight. Stifling a yawn, Luck mumbled,

“N'luqmz,” to Jingles across the room and tried to fall asleep against the thin, lumpy pillow. He was tired and his eyes ached from the strain of reading for the past few hours, but time passed and he found himself tossing and turning more than usual. The plan preyed on his mind, sure, but what was really stopping him from drifting off was the nagging _hollowness_ within him. It was a feeling he knew all too well, and most nights he could ignore it or fell asleep from exhaustion long before he’d had a chance to register the vicious pangs in his heart. _He was lonely._ As his thoughts raced round and round in his head, starting from the rude reception they’d had in the town to the slavery plan they’d started brewing, he couldn’t stave off the ever-increasing crushing feeling. He needed someone, _anyone_ , and tonight it didn’t matter who. But Jingles was on the floor probably already asleep, and it would be pushing his luck beyond the pale to ask the drow to come and share the tiny little bed with him. Why would he want to, anyway? _Sleeping with a slaver… what a stupid idea._

Rather than disturb the little jester, Luck rolled across to his pack under the bed and reached over to sift through the contents. Without leaning over to look, it took him some time to find what he was after, but eventually his fingers brushed against the soft arm of Teddy. With a tug, he came free of the junk in the bag and Luck rolled back over, clutching the bear to his chest for a strong hug. This little toy had seen a lot, and Luck swallowed hard at the guilt that came with the memory of what he’d done to the bear’s owner. _He was just a kid…_ He’d gotten greedy; gold had blinded him and made him vicious…

_“Yaf'v va vorhzmulq oar qadv, haf euq!”_ an angry young voice screamed at him from an old memory, and he crushed Teddy to his chest, willing the tears away. The tiefling tucked the bear under the scratchy blanket, head poking out and resting on top of Luck’s chest. That felt better; _treat the bear right, if you can’t do anything else right_ he chastised himself and sniffed hard against the tearing in his eyes. He needed to sleep. Luck focussed on his breathing then, listening to the gentle in and out of his own lungs in the silent room, and within minutes he’d managed to drift into oblivion.

The morning came as a rude shock when Luck and Jingles were thrust into consciousness by the sound of a _brass band_ parading down the main street. Luck jumped up from his dreamless sleep and nearly cracked his skull open on the windowsill above him. Rubbing his grazed horns, he turned in his bed to look out the window. _Yep. Alpine horns…_

“What the fu-” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes and throwing the rubbish bedsheets off himself. Over the tops of the buildings around them, the sun had barely risen. “Looks like it’s time to go. Come on,” he said bitterly, looking over to where Jingles too had woken up to the cacophony of toneless instruments.

It took less than a minute to pull his shoes on and pick up his pack, and Jingles rolled his bedroll quickly under the motivation of getting away from that noise as quickly as possible. The two friends rushed downstairs and out of the town as quickly as they could, taking pains to avoid the horns down below in the main street. They zigzagged through some alleys and out towards the rising sun, eastward and further into the valley that eventually lead them to the South Sea.

Before settling into his bedroll, Jingles grabbed a wet wipe from his pack to wash his face with. He wiped the makeup off of his skin with practiced ease and then tossed the wipe into a corner of the room with little care. The jester didn't bother taking off his costume. Actually it looked like he was going to sleep in the entire thing, cowl and all. It wasn't unusual for him to do this especially if he was sharing the room. There were so many other things to worry about now and he'd rather not worry about Luck finding out what he was be one of them.

He slipped into his bedroll and turned to look at Luck when he bid him good night in Infernal. Oh. So the man did hear his little comment after all. Jingles wondered if the man cared or not that he knew a language that only tieflings and demons would know. Maybe Luck was too tired to consider that fact. Either way Jingles decided not to respond in any language. He was lucky the man didn't point out that he knew Infernal earlier, so Jingles might as well pretend he didn't know what Luck said just now.

Jingles moved to face the wall and curled up in his bedroll. He could still feel the hard wooden floor through the fabric, which made him uncomfortable and brought up bad memories. As a slave he didn't have a bed to sleep in. No, he was way too disobedient to have that luxury. He often was left to sleep on the floor without even a blanket to cover him. The jester shivered at the memory. Actually, it was more than the memory that made him shiver. He was cold.

With a sigh he closed his eyes tight to try and force himself to sleep. In the back of his mind Jingles wanted to climb into the bed and press against Luck to steal his body heat. Despite their mutual interest in each other, Jingles decided it would be best if he didn't bother the man. He was probably already asleep anyways.

It was brief; it felt like the moment he fell asleep loud horns from outside started to blare. Jingles sat up and groaned. He rubbed his eyes and noticed an ache in his spine. The floor did not treat his back kindly last night. He wanted to go back to sleep. He felt like he could sleep for a month right now.

_"...it's time to go. Come on."_

Luck was right. The jester pulled himself out of his bedroll and packed it back up. He took a brief moment to straighten his cowl on his head before he tiredly glanced around the room for any more belongings. Everything looked to be in order.

Jingles didn't even bother with his makeup. He just wanted out of this town. The humans loved his act, but he hated how they treated Luck with such disdain.

The jester was uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way east. Usually he was full of pep and positive energy- even in the mornings- but today Jingles seemed rather solemn. There were dark circles under his eyes indicating that he hadn't slept well too. He gripped the straps of his backpack tightly as he thought about the journey ahead and their plan to infiltrate the slave market. Jingles felt his stomach twist nervously. It was tempting to ask Luck if they could just head back to the stronghold and forget about it, but he was determined to go through with their plan no matter how much he hated it. Those poor drow deserved a chance at freedom.

Luck stopped at a fork in the road about an hour outside of the city they’d just fled. Now that the road was long and empty behind him, and the sound of horns had long faded into the distance, he felt it time to rest.

“Let’s stop for a bit,” he waved towards a collection of stones a little aways from the main road. A fire pit sat cold and empty between the stones, having clearly not been used for weeks at least. Not many people came this far south by foot. Luck picked his way through a few bushed to the stone and sit himself gingerly down, pulling up his canteen and opening it to take a long drink. Hunger was beginning to claw at his stomach. Dinner last night hadn’t been much, and lunch had been skipped in favour of studying the maps and charts he’d poured over all day to no avail. At least they’d formulated some kind of plan, but now Luck was thinking on his feet – that was fine when it was just him to worry about, but _Jingles_ was part of the equation now, and a huge part of it too.

“I’ve been thinking about what we’ll have to do. Hear me out; if it doesn’t sound right, it’s better to tell me sooner than later,” he prefaced his suggestion gently and pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket. Unfolding the handdrawn map, he sidled over to Jingles and pressed the paper against the rock between them. Using his canteen to weigh down the edges so it wouldn’t blow away, Luck pointed one sharp nail at the road he’d drawn at the top of the map.

[ ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/573266555132051490/576281585653907490/southseas_copy.png)

“We’re up here. I didn’t draw this to scale, but the journey down to the ocean,” he ran his finger along the inked road, “will take another few hours. We should get here by dinner.” Luck stabbed at the little dot he’d made on the paper. No name appeared around the dot, but the tiefling knew the little portside area well. It wasn’t so much a town, but more of a village.

“From here we can catch a boat- I’m sorry,” he winced, glancing across at the jester knowing full well he wouldn’t like that part of the plan. “It’s not too far though. The weather’s been good. We can wait until morning and take the boat across the water,” he skipped over the gap of water he’d drawn with poorly-stylised waves, “to get to here. It’s another little village, but from there we should be able to hitch a ride into the South Seas area itself. We’ll have effectively gone right around… and this route had the least boats.”

“After we get on the mainland tomorrow, I think that’s when you should start pretending to be my slave,” Luck explained quietly, and from his pack he reached in to retrieve a thick collar and lead.

Jingles followed Luck to the stones. He looked at the old fire pit. While it hasn't been in use for some time, it was still in decent condition. The jester was tempted to start up a fire and roll out his bedroll for a nap and some warmth, but he did neither. Instead he sat down and pulled out a bit of ration; just some dried meat to chew on to keep hunger at bay.

He listened to Luck and stared at the hand drawn map. Some of the things he saw on it he found amusing. There was a crossed out cartoonish kraken, the words 'stupid humans' by what he assumed was the town they just left, and some... Infernal writing? 'Jingles won't like'. As if the man knew he had just read the writing, Jingles heard Luck apologize for needing a boat to get to their destination. "How long do we need to sail?" The jester questioned. He hoped it wasn't going to be too long of a journey across the water. Memories of the time they took a ship back to the stronghold came back to him and made his stomach clench.

_"...I think that's when you should start pretending to be my slave."_

Jingles scowled at the collar. Just looking at it made him lose his appetite and filled his belly with anger and resentment. Of course Luck had a collar, he was a slaver- no, he _used_ to be a slaver. The jester was surprised that the tiefling hadn't produced some shackles as well. "Should I call you 'master', 'mister', or 'sir'?" Jingles asked and tried his damnedest not to glare at Luck. Pretending to be a slave would be easy for him. All he had to do was act like the willpower had been beaten out of him and... that was an experience he didn't want to remember. His rebellious behavior often got him chained up and punished. King Sam- or rather the people who dealt the the slaves for him- had tried many times to pummel and lash obedience into the jester, but Jingles' will was always too strong to snuff out permanently.

He bit his tongue hard to stop himself from chuckling... master.

"Sir will be fine. I won't engage with you much once you're collared."

It was always easier to sell people if he didn't get too attached, didn't get to learn who they were as people. He told this much to Jingles.

"I don't want to make this hard for you, but it needs to be convincing. I regret everything I've done up to this point, but when I sold, I did it well, so I want you to know that even if I appear to be in my element, I don't want to be selling. Please don't forget that when we get tot he South Seas," the tiefling spoke the last part of his sentence a little quieter, looking Jingles directly in his golden eyes. They'd see that drow coming a mile off. "Here," Luck swept his canteen and map off the stone and tucked it to one side then placed the collar between them. He said nothing, but knew his friend would understand. Luck didn't want to put the collar on Jingles, hell, he couldn't; that was the act of a slaver, and though he might have old blood on his hands, he had changed. To reach across and put the collar on Jingles now would be a move he simply couldn't make and all the trust they built between each other, fragile as it was now, would shatter if he reached his hands around the drow's neck. Jingles didn't have to put the collar on now anyway; the village they'd be spending the night in wasn't connected to the dwarves and there was little chance they'd be seen by someone who would recognise them later on. When the time came, Jingles would have to put the collar on himself.

Luck was too agitated to eat by that point and he was fairly sure he was out of food anyway. Jingles didn't seem interested in finishing the dried meat he'd been gnawing on either, so they decided to move on. Luck suggested Jingles take the time to put his make up on now if he wanted, but reassured the drow they'd likely not come across anyone on the road today anyway.

The sun was sinking low behind the distant mountains by the time they reached the fishing village. It was late afternoon but still a few hours until sunset, so the pair had time to speak to the folk in the village and secure a bed for the night.

An overzealous halfing farmer and his wife welcomed the travellers into their home for dinner, and Luck and Jingles ate their fill of fresh lamb, breads and cheeses. The halflings accepted the coin Luck pressed into their hands, partly for dinner and partly for passage on a barge tomorrow, and they were ushered into the neighbouring barn for the night. The night proved to be cold as the tiefling prepared himself for bed. Although he and Jingles had spoken little that day, as Luck shivered against his bed of hay, he struck up the courage to ask the drow a favour.

"Could we sleep together tonight... to keep warm? Even this old demon is feeling the chill tonight."

So Luck would prefer to call called 'sir'. That was fine. It wasn't as degrading as calling him 'master' was. Jingles tried not to sneer at Luck as bitter memories continues to flash through his head. It also made sense as a slaver Luck wouldn't get attached to the people he sold. Jingles figured it was easier to sell another _person_ if they were treated like an object.

"I won't forget." Jingles promised. "And I'll be convincing." Very convincing. With his past experiences and his own skill at performing and acting, the jester was confident that he could pull it off. He just hoped his anger wouldn't get the best of him. It would be really hard to not just burn those dwarves alive as soon as he saw them.

He stared at the collar between them. Jingles wondered if Luck wanted him to put it on now. No... that didn't make sense. Was he giving him the collar then? The jester looked between Luck and the collar and came to the realization that Luck trusted him enough to put the collar on himself when the time came. He appreciated the gesture, even though he absolutely loathed the fact that he had to put on a collar. Jingles hesitantly took it and gripped the collar in his hands. It was difficult to not just break the damned thing and tear it into pieces, but he managed to control himself and put the collar in his pack for now.

Jingles then put away his partially eaten ration. There was no way he could finish the meat now. Luck suggested that he put his makeup on. Now was a good time to do so. Jingles took a few minutes to apply the makeup back onto his face with a little assistance of a pocket mirror. Once he was done they were good to go back onto the road.

It was hard for Jingles to trust the halflings that generously invited them into their home, but he did his best to quell his instinctive hostility towards the race. After all the farmer had nothing in common with the hated dead king and had shown such kindness. While he didn't perform in the small town this time around, Jingles did manage to crack a few light-hearted jokes at the dinner table to keep the mood friendly. The halflings had even agreed to help them cross the sea. For all the two were doing for Luck and Jingles, he thought they deserved more coin, but the halfings didn't complain with the amount Luck had given them.

Jingles was preparing his own pile of hay to sleep on. He quietly thought to himself and debated on putting his bedroll on top of the hay for extra cushioning and to keep warm. It was awfully chilly and the barn provided less warmth then the inn had in the human town.

_"Could we sleep together tonight... to keep warm?"_

He heard Luck's question and turned to the man. It looked like the suggestion had caught the jester off guard. "I... uh..." Jingles stuttered a little and blushed underneath the makeup he hadn't taken off yet. He wouldn't admit it, but honestly Jingles was thinking about asking Luck if he could borrow his body heat as well. The jester was much too shy to ask, so it was a blessing that Luck did. "...sure." He finally said after gathering up the nerve to agree. The jester gave Luck a sheepish smile. He carried as much hay as he could over to the man's own pile to expand it so there would be enough space for both of them. Though Jingles was small and if they were huddling together for warm they may not need the extra room.

Jingles sat down on the hay pile and dug through his pack for a wet wipe- the useful little things- to take off his makeup with. After he removed his makeup he got out his bedroll and spread it out so they could use it as a make-shift blanket.

Luck took his chance to curl around Jingles and his tail whipped and swished silently behind him avoiding rustling the hay. He wanted to curl that around the short little jester too, but somehow that felt a bit too intimate, instead he just curled his body around Jingles and spooned him, enjoying the warmth he gave off.

"That's much better," Luck feigned comfort but took a bit of time to let his muscles relax. Being next to Jingles was nice, but it made him overanalyse every movement he made, every breath he took next to the little drow.

Eventually, the long day's walk and early start got to him, and Luck couldn't help but succumb to the pull of sleep. As he drifted off, he shifted in the hay, unconsciously pulling his little packet of heat closer to his chest and curling his tail around Jingles' legs possessively.

The two were woken early that morning before the sun has started to light the valley. It was past sunrise, but with the mountains surrounding them, light wouldn't appear for another few hours at least.

"Barge is going in fifteen minutes!" the halfing farmer bellowed into the barn, giving the shaky door a few good thumps for measure. "You folks up?"

"Awake, thank you!" Luck yelled back groggily, rubbing his eyes and extricating himself from the tangle of limbs and tails he found himself in. His jostling was enough to wake Jingles, and they spared little time picking up their packs and heading to the wharf through the icy morning air. The warmth of the day wouldn't come around until the sun made an appearance.

The halfing farmer had disappeared, but another gaggle of new halflings milled around the barge on the water, clearly expecting their arrival.

"Once the wool's loaded we'll be heading out. Appreciate a hand if you've got one," a surly little fellow asked, and Luck willingly deposited his pack against a mountain of wool on the barge before charging off into the darkness to help them load the rest. The more he moved, the warmer he'd get.

The big, flatbed barge pushed off from the wharf with a mighty effort from the halflings, and slowly but surely they drifted into the stream and out towards the ocean. They were currently on the edge of an inlet to the ocean, so after a few chopper turns across the conflicting currents, they drifted out into the ocean currents proper and made their way at an angle towards the other bank. Luck's map, while hand made, was perhaps a little more accurate than he'd given himself credit for, and within two hours they'd reached the other side. The sunlight had only just begun to breach the tops of the mountains.

"We're close now."

Jingles flinched slightly when Luck suddenly spooned him. He blushed hard and pressed his head and back against the man's warm torso. Oh, it felt nice to be held against such a warm body. Jingles began to relax and let his eyes flutter shut. Because he hadn't slept well the night before he fell unconscious rather quickly. The last thing he felt before falling sleep was a tail wrapping around his legs. Even if he had the energy to protest, the jester wouldn't. He was completely comfortable in Luck's arms.

Jingles groaned when he felt Luck moving to leave. He turned his body to grab the man and keep him in place, but was too slow and missed. The jester huffed in disappointment and pulled himself up into a sitting position. After he packed up his bedroll and put his backpack on his back the two were off to the barge. They moved too quickly to provide the jester an opportunity to put on his makeup.

He decided to follow Luck's lead and help load wool onto the ship. While he was smaller than Luck, he was much bigger than the halflings and managed to carry a surprising amount of wool onto the barge. His help definitely made a difference and they were off into the waters in no time.

He didn't want to put his makeup on the water due to the waves rocking the barge, so Jingles opted to keep his face bare for now. The movement didn't make his stomach as upset as he thought it would. Instead it was the anticipation of their destination that made his stomach clench. The jester kept his eyes on the horizon anxiously to look for land. Two hours flew by quickly and soon Jingles was able to see the mountains in the far off distance. The view made his stomach drop.

_"We're close now."_

Jingles frowned at Luck. He took the warning as his cue to put his collar on. He pulled the leather strap from his backpack and too a couple of moments to fiddle with it before tightening it around his neck. He had to push down the ruffles on his costume to make room for it. He sighed at the immediate urge of wanting to take it off as soon as it was on him properly. The leather brushed against his skin more roughly than the little ruffles he had ever did. "... _f mizy uz_..." He grumbled quietly to himself as he pulled on the collar gently as an attempt to relieve his now irritated skin.

Luck was relieved that Jingles took the hint; he didn't want to have to tell the drow to put the collar on directly. He watched his friend struggle to crush the ruff of his collar under the leather and winced at the sight of the fine material crumpling. 

"What if I take your ruff, keep it safe? I'll have to take your pack too," he gestured towards Jingles' things where they lie next to Luck's. 

As the barge pulled up to the village, Luck and Jingles prepared to disembark, and both of them met the ground running when the prow dug into the riverbank. They stumbled through a few higher bushes and Luck's boots go decidedly soggy in the riverbank mud, but they otherwise came out okay. The halflings seemed to have less trouble due to their light feet, but even they struggled to offload their cargo without trailing it in the mud. 

Luck turned towards the south and reached for the lead attached to his belt. With unsteady hands, he unhooked the clasp and reached over to Jingles slowly, making sure his hands were in full view as he did so. 

"What's your name?" he asked as he clipped the lead to Jingles' leash, and his heart sank as he felt the drow tug against his grip. 

He never wanted to do this again.

They traveled south by foot for hours, each step seeming like it got them nowhere fast. The mountains to their right looked as if they hadn't moved at all and the never-ending ocean to their left did little to help. There was no shelter along the roads now; the icy winds from the mountains blew fierce over the fields below creating a tundra that seemed to go on forever. Luck's lipped chapped in the dry wind and he found his eyes watering against the wind that wouldn't stop blowing. His ears were getting cold and his tail had retreated and curled up under his coat, but it still felt like the end wanted to snap off. 

_Should have studied a climate map..._ he berated himself as he dropped Jingles' leash for the fiftieth time. This time, he let it hand around Jingles' neck. If he saw someone coming he could grab it back then. 

"You weren't dressed like that when you burned down Pyrrhos' house, were you?" 

The thought pulled Luck out of his silent daydreaming.

Jingles promptly removed his ruffle at Luck's suggestion and handed it over to the man. It was nice to know that the fine fabric wouldn't get ruined now, but he still missed the piece of his costume. "Wait." Jingles went over to his pack and dug out his thieves' tools. These could come in handy and he'd feel a lot safer if he had them. He hid them amongst the hidden pockets of his poofy shorts. The costume hid the tools well and you couldn't tell he had time by just looking.

The jester then turned to the man and saw Luck now had the lead in his hands. He did his best not to bare his teeth, but he couldn't help but to give the tiefling a glare as he approached him. Still, Jingles cooperated and let Luck attach the lead to his collar. He instinctively tugged on it.

_"What's your name?"_

"Jing- ..." His natural reaction was to say 'Jingles' at the question, but he stopped himself. He couldn't call himself that. It would soil his good jester name and he'd have to rename himself if he didn't want slavers to recognize him after this ordeal. He took a moment to think of a name. He couldn't use 'Lucien' again either. People who used to trade in Tachnir would know the name. "It's... Marlow." He finally said with a scowl. Jingles hated his slave name very much, but it seemed appropriate to use it now. Besides with the king dead and it being years, the jester doubted anyone would know that name.

Jingles hugged himself as they traveled south through the tundra. His thin costume did little to protect him from the chilling winds. Occasionally he would forget he was on a lead and get tugged when he strayed too far behind Luck. Thankfully Luck dropped the lead again and it looked like he was just going to let it dangle for now.

He paused his movement at Luck's question. The memory of the night he killed Pyrrhos suddenly flashed through his mind.

_Someone fucking help me before this fuckin' jester kills me!!_

The panther's last words echoed through his mind and his heart leapt in panic at the realization. _He was wearing his costume when he had killed Pyrrhos._ "I-I was..." Jingles stuttered as a shiver went through his body. "Should I disguise myself? I thought being a jester would be your selling point." He asked.

Luck thought it over for a few moments, turning back towards the wind and starting to walk again as he spoke.

“I don’t suppose it would matter,” he shouted over his shoulder, voice lost to the wind. “But I worry someone might recognise you and rather you dead than a slave. Have you still got that costume from the party in Crestport?” The other jester’s outfit he’d donned on that night would be better. While Jingles _had **killed the King**_ in that outfit, he had been exonerated by that Raghoun fellow in some sort of plot that Luck _still_ wasn’t entirely sure about. Jingles hadn’t really explained it to Luck at the time (having not been on speaking terms being a major part of it), but Jingles had been able to walk free into the street – despite being _seen_ having killed the King – and he hadn’t ben mobbed and lynched, so he was probably going to be fine here. The death of the King wouldn’t concern a slaver anyway.

It was well into the night before the two actually made it to the South Sea Alps. No one bothered with the full name, and it was fairly misleading in itself which is what led it to being a difficult place to find. If you weren’t a dwarf or knew about the place already, it was hard to find or even hear about. The vagueness of the name often led people to dismiss the place as an area in general, and _that_ was just about the greatest defense the city could have. It’s also what kept the slave trade thriving… like a wasps’ nest; buzzing with vicious, dangerous people.

The South Sea Alps was a city nestled into the bosom of the Alps themselves. The city reached out across the distance between the foothills and the sea, sprawling behind a great stone wall that hid all but the highest buildings from view. Up the hills, the town spread out into a mix of homesteads built into the rock with smatterings of mines and tunnels bored throughout the mountainside. The closer one got to the city, the closer one realised the mountains themselves must be nearly hollow. Centuries of dwarven activity had carved the mountain from the inside out, and those still in the mines burrowed ever deeper into the earth in search of treasures fit to guild the halls of the nobility. Luck didn’t understand much about dwarves and he knew even less about the city, but sources from Tachnir (predominantly Lias, he realised with sudden clarity) had told him stories of the size of the trade down here. Slaves would be brought in by the dozen from ships, all ushered hastily into the dockyards just inside the great city walls, and from there they were sorted and shifted, split apart and sold to different buyers depending on the needs of the new owner. Many if not most that entered the ports here were drow, and being drow, the dwarves found their affinity for the dark and abilities to carve out the hearts of mountains worked well for their devices and so many of the stronger drow were sent underground. Those with magic were forced to shore up the honeycombed mountain – their powers something even the dwarves would secretly admit was needed now – and the smaller drow were sent deep down into long, thin tunnels to burrow like worms into the dirt in search of treasures.

Those who escaped a life under the mountain were often sold and shipped out of the South Seas all together, but some stayed and the intelligent ones were left to work as cooks, housemaids and even bookkeepers for the various families in town. Some would have considered their positions better than that of those in the mountain, but the propensity these dwarves had for cruelty to the drow made their lives arguably harder than most. Those who worked in the mountain lasted upwards of five years; the drow in the town were traded, used, and tossed to the ocean as if they were nothing more than cheap, disposable toys.

Luck didn’t say much of this to Jingles. He assumed the drow would know about this place, maybe even understand what went on inside. It wouldn’t do well to scare him anyway; Jingles could handle himself.

“When we get into the city, I’m going to take a room as fast as we can. I’ll bring you in with me but I can’t be easy on you. Don’t speak, don’t look anyone in the eye, and keep your head down. No one will try to take you when you’re with me but I can’t hold on to you for long. We’ll talk more tonight before we sleep, and in the morning I’ll have to let you go.”

Luck stooped a little to pick up the lead that had been tossed over Jingles’ shoulders and he tightened his grip on the leather as he steeled his face. _By Gods_ \- he could do this, but it would be tough.

“I will keep an eye on you wherever you go. You will be safe with me around,” he looked Jingles in the eye. It was a promise he would keep come hell or high water.

Getting into the city was easy by foot. Taking the door from the ports at night meant it wasn’t obvious that they’d come by foot, and coming at night meant they wouldn’t be noticed until the time was right. Luck doubted anyone would recognise them but he worried his slave would become a target for theft from slavers he might have known from Tachnir. No one could be trusted.

“So tell me again one more time. What are you going to do once I’ve sold you off to the right person?”

Jingles frowned when Luck mentioned Crestport. Giving the King what he deserved at the masquerade was satisfying, but if it weren't for that Raghoun character he would most likely had been executed. "I didn't bring it with me." The jester admitted. In all honesty, Jingles had destroyed that costume to use it to mend his current one whenever it teared or was otherwise ruined. He never wanted to wear that costume again anyways. It was unlikely he would ever go back to Crestport or find someone who was at the masquerade that would recognize him, but he still didn't want to take that chance.

By the time the sun went down the temperature dropped drastically. Jingles huddled next to Luck as they walked now in desperation to keep warm. The man hadn't pushed him away despite his claims of being more aloof towards him as they got closer to the city. Luckily they hadn't run into anyone on the road. The climate was a great deterrent and now Jingles understood why most people opted to sail towards the South Sea Alps instead of traveling on foot.

He listened to Luck's instructions carefully. Jingles felt a creeping sense of dread claw at him at the realization of how close they actually were to selling him off to the dwarves. Regardless he nodded at the man to let him know he heard him and understood. Luck took ahold of the lead again, but Jingles was too cold to care. They had to keep up a proper appearance anyways. The closer they got to the city the more likely they would run into another slaver. Luck's promise to keep an eye on the jester brought Jingles a little comfort. "Thank you..." He wondered how far Luck would go to protect him. Jingles wasn't going to outright put himself in danger, but if any of the dwarves caught wind of what he was planning with the other drow things could take a turn for the worst.

After they got into the city, Luck turned to Jingles and asked him a question. The jester stared at the man and debated on whether he should actually answer or not out here. He looked around for signs of others and then replied quietly. "I'm going to talk to the other slaves." Jingles told him. "You said to... give them a goal and a timeline and not to start anything right away, didn't you? When do you think is a good time to start the uprising?" He asked Luck. Jingles wasn't too sure himself how he was going to go about it so any feedback Luck had would prove very useful.

In all honesty, Luck wasn't sure when the best time to start the uprising would be. Once he was in the city and Jingles had been sold, he'd be alone as an outsider from both the city folk and the slaves... He hadn't thought all that much about what he'd do next - taking a job within the city trade would be a useful way to get inside the operation, but it was too risky and it wasn't like Luck. He could hang around a practise his charlatan tricks, but that never went over well with dwarves; they don't take kindly to losing money, less so to a tiefling. The only option he could think of that would be in character was to continue trading. He could buy some more slaves from the stockyard and trade them on. That would be the best way to send strong-willed slaves straight into Jingles' hand, but it also meant he would be crossing one very important line. If Luck bought and sold more slaves now, he'd be buying and selling _drow_ , and he _**really**_ didn't want to know how well that would go over with Jingles. The jester might understand, sure, but damned if he was going to get caught on the wrong side of Jingles' knife _again_.

The two reached an inn not far from the main gates. It was a small place and rundown enough that it would be cheap and discreet. Luck rented the room and strode up the stairs two steps at a time, paying no attention to the drow leashed to his belt loop and clearly struggling with being tethered to someone with legs twice as long as his own. 

"Corner on the floor," Luck commanded once he'd closed the door to their room and checked the bolt was secure. He spoke with a loud voice but then remained silent, ear pressed to the door to make sure no one was nearby. The guest in the next room was either asleep or non-existent he decided, satisfied with the minute of silence from behind the door, and released the tension from his shoulders. 

"Keep it quiet," he whispered to Jingles and reached forward to release the leather leash. The tiefling twisted the lead into a loop on the wall and let it hang so it looked as if Jingles were tethered to the wall should anyone walk in. Taking in a shallow breath, Luck straightened his back and looked down at Jingles. Now was the time to broach his side of the plan to the half drow.

Jingles was nearly dragged up to their room at the inn with how fast Luck was walking. He opted not to complain and silently deal with the minor mistreatment in case any late night onlookers glanced at them. It would be unusual if a supposed slave told their slaver to slow down for them after all.

He didn't like listening to the command. The jester never liked following any command as a slave. Despite this, Jingles went to the corner and sat down without any hesitation. Honestly he was thankful to be off of his feet after how much walking they had done today. Even without any pillows and blankets, Jingles felt like he could fall asleep in the corner without a problem. The jester was downright exhausted, but it looked like Luck had something else to say to him.

Jingles listened carefully to what Luck planned to do on his end. It made sense, even though he really disliked the fact Luck would be buy and selling even more drow after he was sold. His fatigue was very apparent with how little he reacted to Luck's plan. He simply looked up at the man with a frown. "Do what you must." He sighed and curled up into himself. The journey had obviously taken a toll on the little jester, but it wasn't just his physical strength that was drained. In his head Jingles was mentally preparing himself to be treated as a slave and to act like one. It took a lot out of him and this whole plan was full of red flags that he had to force himself to ignore. He found himself feeling rather depressed, but he supposed it would help him with his act.


End file.
